


pull the trigger without thinking

by liginamite



Category: Pacific Rim
Genre: Backstory, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-drift Empathy, Science Boyfriends, Shared Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liginamite/pseuds/liginamite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's manageable for the first few days. Shared emotions, shared thoughts, words spoken in unison. But it's only when they share a nightmare born of memories that it finally occurs to them that maybe this isn't going to go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pull the trigger without thinking

**Author's Note:**

> i've seen this movie two times and read the novelization and that's not nearly enough for how much i love it. ESPECIALLY THESE ORNERY DOUCHES. ; 3; this sure did get away from me. thank you for reading! /smooches cheeks all over the place

“And you’re a dick,” were the first four words Newton Geiszler ever said to Hermann Gottlieb, and they were in response to the very stuffy introduction of, “oh good, a rockstar. We’re sure to get heaps of work done now.” Though his perspective has changed significantly, Newt will still hold that his entirely unprofessional response was worth the look of shock and aggravation on his new colleague's face. 

It’s odd now, years later, an arm slung around Hermann’s shoulders as the world restarts itself, as the population throws its hands up in mutual celebration, that he feels a shock at the contact, like touching an electrical socket, but warm and friendly and ethereal, and Hermann looks over at him with something startled in his expression. 

It’s the weirdest feeling in the world, to have someone in your head at any given point in time, and Newt thinks to himself, knowing that Hermann can probably get the gist of it, _wow. Were you always this amazing? Shit._

Their eyes meet for second longer than is necessary, and Hermann’s tighten in consideration, and then everyone is joining in on one big, awkward hug between every body present in the room. Though they physically stop touching, pulled apart, Newt can feel still feel him in the curve of his skull, and it’s oddly comforting.

-

He can see it, when he closes his eyes. It comes and goes in bursts, like lightning striking the clouds in the dead of night. Flickers of memories he can’t personally recall, things he’s never lived through, but Newt can feel every nuance of emotion, every spike of jealousy or rage or terror, every lift of spirit, every single disappointment, literally everything he could imagine if he tries, though it’s never quite clear. It’s as though he’s looking through glasses with a prescription that’s just a little bit off, fuzzy until he can focus, and in the end it just gives him a headache.

There are many times where he finds himself rubbing at his temples until his skin aches, fingers digging into the soft spots by his ears. Usually it’s hunched over on the floor, the small of his back against the sheets spilling out over the sides, bare feet cold against the floor. He wakes up from dreams that aren’t his, nightmares he’s never experienced.

It’s not necessarily scary so much as it is unsettling. Newt’s never drifted before so of course he isn’t used to the transfer, even after it’s over. The fact that the intimacy he experienced with Hermann’s thoughts and emotions and memories isn’t a one time ordeal. All of that, really. It’s all kind of like a barrage that hits him occasionally, and when it does it leaves him reeling, shoulder thudding against the wall and palms digging into his eyeballs until he sees swirls and spots and black and white checkerboards. He knows that he and Hermann have gained a connection that can’t be overlooked, and he’d like to act on the connection but, well, the past can get in the way sometimes. 

Hermann, for his part, is the same as he ever was. He doesn’t seem affected by it at all save for a tremble of his fingers as they dart across the chalkboard, mismatched eyes following his movements. They’re not set to go home for another two weeks; there’s still research to do, messes to clean up, theories to examine. The Kaiju may be gone (to a strange combination of his dismay and relief equally) but the world is still in shambles, cities are still torn apart, people are still dying of a sickness left from the enormous corpses. The world needs to rebuild from the bottom up, and they’re on the forefront of the process.

“Hey, so, uh. Do you feel weird?” He dives right into the conversation a few days after the breach was destroyed, elbow deep in Kaiju liver, his gloves goopy and blue. He already knows, but he wants to know it's confirmed. Hermann doesn’t spare him a glance, too engrossed in whatever theorem or algorithm he’s gotten himself immersed in now, but he does at least give the question the dignity of a response.

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

Newt pulls his hands out and flecks of Kaiju blood speckle the floor when he gestures. “Like, do you feel emotionally weird? Drained. But also totally charged up, emotionally. Like you grabbed a plug with your bare hands and your fingers are still tingling. But with feelings instead, is what I’m getting at here.”

Hermann looks over his shoulder, and there’s a smudge of white chalk on his chin. He stares incredulously at Newt, though the expression itself is familiar. There’s a bit less spite in it, gone since what they’ve been through, but familiar nonetheless.

“Despite everything I still find myself stunned you’d know what that feels like.” He sniffs, prim as always, and turns back to the chalkboard, pulling himself up another rung. “I should know better.”

“I was a curious kid,” Newt replies, waving it off with very little indignation. “No, okay, listen.” He tugs the gloves off and tosses them into the hazmat bin, splattering the edges with more blood before he goes to stand next to the ladder, hands on his hips. Hermann continues writing, but from the way his head is cocked just so, he’s clearly listening, and there’s another pang deep in Newt’s chest that tells him he’s right on target. It feels like his heart and his stomach are dropping, out of uncertainty or maybe a little bit of terror, the fear of the unknown and the realization that Newt might very well be right.

It’s a strange feeling, to feel what Hermann’s feeling, but he shakes it off mentally and continues.

“You get it, and I know you do,” he says, accusatory. “We’re, we’re in each other’s heads in some messed up way. I don’t know, but you get it. It’s like Jaeger pilots, they’re always talking about how they take on personalities of their partners if they drift for an extended amount of time. That’s what’s happening. We’ve just been ignoring it.” 

Hermann shakes his head, still on top of the ladder. “That’s ridiculous. We drifted once, and it was hardly _extended_. We couldn’t have been in the drift for more than a minute.” He does slowly make his way back to the floor after that, though, and Newt glares at him a little. “I assume these are merely after-effects. Nothing more. Remnants of being in each other’s minds which, I can assure you, I’m not entirely keen on trying any time again in the near future.” He grunts when his foot touches the floor, and Newt’s foot pulses with a dull ache that he barely acknowledges, too busy trying to argue his point.

“Yeah but you know, Hermann, it wasn’t exactly the most _conventional_ drift.”

“Which only serves to prove my point further,” Hermann replies, and he’s making his way across the lab to his computer, his unwillingness to continue the conversation clear not in his body language but in the irritation that prickles at the hairs on the back of Newt’s neck. “It just means--”

“--that there’s no precedent, yeah, I know,” Newt finishes without thinking, waving it off. The sentence came to him naturally, as if he’d conceived the idea himself. Hermann huffs, but allows the interruption. “I’m just saying, you feel it too and you can’t actually hide that from me, dude. I can tell.” 

“I’m well aware you can tell.” The irritation in Hermann’s tone is growing, and his fingers are flying over the keyboard as he copies the numbers on the chalkboard onto the screen. “I believe that’s the entire _point_ of our conversation, unwilling though I am to continue it. The point is,” and here he picks up the sheets of paper that are sliding single file out of the printer and onto the tilted tray, still warm and smelling of fresh ink, “that whatever it is, it’s not going to last for long, and I suggest you follow my lead and stop dwelling on it.” He taps the small pile of papers onto the desk, straightening them out into a neat bundle, and with that he’s heading out the door, on his way to deliver whatever new theory he’s come up with. 

“You know I hate it when you do that!” Newt shouts after him, and for the rest of the day, he muses loudly and by himself in the lab, making sure his recorder is on the entire time.

-

Newt can’t recall having fallen asleep, but he’s somehow both aware that he’s in a dream and somehow he doesn’t feel quite real, as if he were tangible and yet not at the same time. But he does know that he’s in a building, and he doesn’t recognize it, and above all, that there is a man coming to on the floor, blood staining his forehead and his crisp white shirt.

Newt tilts his head. He remembers this, like a distant memory. He has both heard the story and, somehow, experienced it as well.

The man can’t be older than twenty, but he has Hermann’s thin mouth and long fingers and dark eyes, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this is, in fact, one of Hermann’s memories gone wrong. There’s blood and bodies everywhere, papers strewn across the floor and glass blown out of every window. Young Hermann is struggling, his movements groggy and fumbled, hands working to try and push the large metal beam that’s come down hard on his leg, bent from the ceiling above. 

From outside, there’s a roar. 

Newt feels the raw spike of terror that spreads to the tips of his toes, coupled with morbid fascination and above all, the desperate prayer of a man trapped in a deadly situation. 

“Help,” Newt feels himself say, in a quiet voice, Hermann’s head coming down onto the floor, and it’s the weirdest feeling to both experience this and observe it. A claw, long and trenched, slides across the building and the entire structure shudders, buckling a little without the support of its lower beams. There’s another louder roar, punctuated by the screech of metal as the Kaiju outside takes out the building right next to it with its tail. The floor jerks and falls another few feet, at an angle, desks and chairs sliding to crash against the walls, and Hermann covers his head with both arms and curls inwards as furniture tumbles down around him.

There are choppers in the distance, and the sun is blotted out for a second as the enormous silhouette of a Jaeger is carried past. The Kaiju screeches again, its attention stolen, and from the floor Hermann shifts again, looking entirely worse for the wear. His fingers scrape at the carpet, and he’s pale enough that Newt thinks he might be heading towards shock if he’s not found soon. The building groans again, and Newt jumps as a droplet of blood slides down over his lips and onto his shirt. He touches his fingers to the trail and stares at the stain before looking back up again, the Kaiju is staring right at him, beady eyes narrowed, and rain is pelting him, and he is underground, and Hermann is still on the floor but there’s something strangely surreal about the entire scene. 

Help, he tries to say again, but his voice gets caught in his throat, closed up and frightened, and it cocks its head at him, curious. His stomach drops. Its claw comes out, reaching to grab him, and with a startled yell Newt jerks awake, drenched in sweat and the sheets tangled in his legs. He sits there for a second, breathing hard, and there’s another twinge of fear pulsing in his chest, familiar and warm despite himself.

He makes a mad attempt to get out of bed as fast as he can, nearly crashing to the floor when his foot refuses to extricate itself from the twist of fabric on his bed. He snarls out an angry curse and kicks them away, still half asleep. He snatches up his glasses off the bedside table and jams them onto his face with shaking fingers. He needs to take a moment to himself, to beat down the terror still burbling in his stomach, and then he’s up and out the door.

It’s no surprise to him at all when he pads across the hallway and bangs on Hermann’s door that Hermann’s awake, in his dumb matching plaid flannel pajama set, leaning heavily on his cane and his mouth thin with stress. His expression tells Newt that he knew he was coming, and without a word he steps out of the way, silently inviting Newt in, who practically stumbles inside.

“Did you see that,” he demands instantly, and Hermann shuffles carefully back to his bed, setting himself down and rubbing at his bad leg. He’s almost as pale as he was in the nightmare, but he’s in one piece and mostly he just looks shaken by what occurred. Newt figures he probably looks the same way, his body still quivering with tension and exhausted, nervous excitement. He needs more sleep, but he’s too wired now to do so. And if he’s right, that means Hermann’s in it for the long run as well.

“Obviously, given that I let you in.” Irritable as always. Of course. But he still raises his head a little bit, curiosity in his tone. “First, I do not want to talk about the nightmare itself.” Newt concedes to this, as he doesn’t want to really discuss his half either, and Hermann continues. “You have a theory.”

“Simultaneous experience,” Newt replies instantly, hands out in explanation, sounding a little awed even to himself, and he’s begun pacing across Hermann’s floor. Hermann’s eyes follow his motions, still massaging his knee and shin. But he’s listening quietly, which was more than Newt expected of him. “It was like, we were living each other’s dream and memories but also looking on at our own and each other’s, that. Holy shit. That was weird. I was you and I also wasn’t you. Is that what actually really drifting in a Jaeger feels like?”

“I imagine,” Hermann replies, and he’s absently rubbing under his nose with his thumb, as though he can still feel the soft trickle of blood slipping down onto his lips. Newt watches the motion and mirrors it, making sure his hands come away clean as well. “Or Kaiju.”

“Or Kaiju,” Newt repeats. “Hive-mind mentality.” He claps in realization. “Hive-mind mentality! We’re sharing thoughts, emotions, but it’s stronger than regular Jaeger drifting because we drifted with a Kaiju but since it’s dead we’re the only two left from the original drift so it’s. Stronger, probably.” He rubs at his temples again and there it is again, the spike of pain in his leg and something warm in the pit of his stomach. It feels like frustrated fondness, something like an aggravation and an affection. The way you’d treat a puppy who just clambered in from outside covered in mud. Angry, but unable to properly punish it.

Well, that’s not _his_ feeling. Sort of. An amendment, he decides. It’s not _currently_ his feeling.

To cover the red rising slowly in his face, he points angrily. 

“You’ve been quiet, you’re _never_ quiet.” Newt can’t hide the accusatory tone bleeding from every word. “What gives, man? You haven’t tossed a single theory out the window, it’s like you agree with me and that’s entirely wrong on so many ways. That’s like, violating laws of nature. At least three of them.”

Hermann straightens his back, his chin tilting up a little bit, and after a moment of deliberation, he says, “I thought we’d already established that we’re sharing thoughts and emotions. You may not have _realized_ it, Newton, but everything you’ve already postulated, I’ve already agreed upon when you first formed the idea, or originally came up with the thought myself.” Something that might be construed as a smirk flits across his face briefly. “You’re just quicker at the draw, is all.” 

“Okay,” Newt says, “that sounded too much like me. That’s freaking me out, man, don’t do that again.” 

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Hermann sniffs. “Trust me, to be on the same level of emotional instability, feeling as though I’m likely to wake up at 3am just to tap my feet for three more hours, or do something stupid and unexpected purely for the satisfaction of being allowed to boast about it, is nothing close to what I had hoped to achieve when I agreed to be a part of this program.” 

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing,” Newt protests. “Showing off is like, the best part of doing something stupid and unexpected.” 

“I’m aware that is your viewpoint.”

“Don’t you ever do something just for the thrill of it?” Newt finally manages to sit himself down without asking on the bed, flopping down onto the pillows and wondering mildly how a mutual nightmare of past experiences could result in deep interpersonal conversations about his own personal recklessness. Ah, well. Hermann looks a little affronted both at the question and at Newt’s casual takeover of his bed. 

“Of course not. With one exception,” he amends, “but I’d hardly count it, given that we were pressured for time and I wasn’t doing it for my own benefit, nor the showing off. Mostly, I was doing it so that you wouldn’t die.” He’s oddly casual with the point, but Newt still feels tickled by it.

“But you _could_ show off,” he points out.

“I suppose.” 

“You _suppose_.” Newt throws his hands up, waving them around. “Dude. You mind melded with a Kaiju. And me, but you know. Also a Kaiju. That’s the more interesting part, people are going to be asking you what that was like for _years_. Though, let’s face it, I’m almost as interesting.” He sits up on his elbows and tugs at Hermann’s sleeve. “Will you get down here, I’m getting a neck cramp.”

“I don’t recall ever inviting you to lay on my bed,” is Hermann’s reply, but he promptly obeys, rubbing his bad leg once more before settling on his back and threading his fingers together over his stomach. He ends up nabbing the pillow next to Newt’s head and shoving it under his knee. 

They lie like that for a moment in companionable silence, something they wouldn’t have been able to do even a week ago. But having lived in someone’s head and felt their emotions and lived their memories can add a strange sense of tranquility to a previously hostile relationship, and after a few moments Hermann awkwardly shuffles a little so that their elbows are touching.

“I’m willing to admit that you’re interesting,” he finally allows, and Newt beams at the ceiling and makes sure to remember this moment for always and forever so he can throw it in Hermann’s face the next time he tries to call him droll.

“I’m also willing to admit that I’m interesting,” he cracks, and Hermann pulls his lips inwards into a straight line, in a very done sort of fashion. Newt nudges him with his elbow, rolling his head to the side. “I know you’re laughing on the inside. Somewhere. Even if I can’t feel it. You totally are.”

Hermann turns his head as well with a thoroughly unimpressed expression, an eyebrow raised, and his one eye is still violently scarlet. Newt stares at it, thinking of everything it implies, and he only realizes how awkward the action is when Hermann says, “I’m not going to laugh, Newton, just because you think you’ve made a funny.”

“Hey. It _was_ funny, alright,” Newt snaps, pointing a finger again. “ _I_ thought it was funny so by proxy you also thought it was funny because you feel what I feel. So. Ha.” 

It’s still strange to see Hermann smile, given how long they’ve known each other as nothing but antagonists to each other, but smile he does, and Newt’s chest flares with that fondness again, but almost stronger than that. There’s another moment of eye contact, long and quiet. Finally Newt realizes that, yes, he is known for being spontaneous and reckless and _interesting_ so, he acts on all three, and on the fondness blooming warm against his ribs. He scootches close, and either Hermann already knows what he’s doing and supports it, or he’s entirely caught off guard.

Contact makes the connection stronger, he’s found, and when their lips touch there’s another burst of warmth and little bit of shock and a lot of surprised delight. It’s small, just a little kiss, but when that spark explodes between the two of them it jerks a sharp gasp out of both. It’s like drifting but without the strain and the potential hemorrhage. Mostly, it’s just very, very pleasant, and Newt goes after it without thinking. 

Pleasant turns to excitement, both of them chasing the feeling, that connection, the bridge that connects their thoughts and emotions, like the high of skydiving or discovering something entirely new, that no one’s ever seen. Hermann’s hands find his shirt and pull, and Newt, in a manner of gracelessness he’s known for, manages to clamber up and straddles Hermann’s waist, mindful of his leg. 

Kissing Hermann is actually a lot better than he would have anticipated, stuck somewhere smack dab between passion and something that, on anyone else, he’d call sweet. But on Hermann, it’s more like careful and yet delighted all at once. It’s an experience, one that Newt chases. The tug in his chest grows stronger, and there’s that presence at the base of his skull that feels like home.

“Well,” Hermann says against his mouth when they manage to pull away, air still a requirement despite their efforts, noses still touching. “I believe that falls under ‘just for the thrill’.” He’s still prim and proper but there’s a smile on his face that Newt quite likes and despite the past and their previous method of yelling as a form of communication,, he’s willing to make it work to see more of it. Even if he’s the biggest pain in the ass Newt’s ever met.

“Good enough,” he concedes, and leans in again. Hermann’s fingers find his hair and it’s quite possibly the calmest and the happiest either of them have been in each other’s company in the entirety of their companionship. Though a first, Newt can hope that it won’t be the last. Kissing Hermann is kind of awesome, he’s realizing.

Oddly enough, sleep (when it comes, eventually) is blissful and quiet, and Newt wakes up with one arm slung over Hermann’s chest and the realization that he drooled all over Hermann’s pillows.


End file.
